SANTO IN THE MYSTERY OF THE BLACK PEARL (1976) * ½

If the opening moments of Santo in the Mystery of the Black Pearl seem familiar to you, it’s because they have been taken entirely from Sam Fuller’s 1969 film, Shark.  Even though the editor tried to chop up the truck chase scene so you couldn’t tell who was driving, he clearly missed a few shots of Burt Reynolds’ face.  I can’t say this is a very good Lucha Libre flick, but what I can say is that this is probably the only time you’ll get to see Burt Reynolds and El Santo in the same movie, albeit not together. 

Like most bad El Santo movies, it takes a long time before he appears.  Not only do you have to sit through a long stretch of Shark, but there’s also a lethargic musical sequence taken from a much older film that makes the footage from that flick look ancient in comparison.  Later, there’s a nightclub act as well as a native dance routine that further pads the running time out.  There’s also an unrelated six-woman tag-team match, which is the kind of padding I don’t mind. 

After a good twenty minutes or so, El Santo finally shows up.  He gets an assignment to go after some jewel thieves who want to get their hands on some valuable pearls, none of which were black, as far as I could tell.  At least I think that’s what happened since my Spanish is limited and I watched the movie without the benefit of subtitles.  Even if I could make head or tails of the plot, the dingy cinematography, haphazard use of multiple film stocks (all of which are of poor quality), and slipshod editing (the continuity in the wrestling scenes is particularly laughable as the grapplers change positions on the mat several times because of all the jump cuts) make this one a tough sit.

I’ll admit, the film does have its moments, but the slow underwater scenes and frustrating pace keep Santo in the Mystery of the Black Pearl on the lower end of the El Santo spectrum.  It doesn’t help that El Santo only participates in one wrestling match.  He does get into a number of scrapes with various villains outside the ring though.  The best fight is his brawl with a guard in a prison cell that occurs late in the picture.  

Too bad El Santo seems to get knocked out, drugged, or indisposed of a lot in this one.  I mean not once but TWICE he’s left all by himself in the ocean and has to rely on helpful passersby to save his bacon.  The scene in which he’s tied to a post against the slowly rising tide has all the makings for a suspenseful sequence, but the resolution is so arbitrary that it takes the fun right out of it.  Thank goodness so many people just happened along to rescue El Santo, or this might’ve been his last adventure!

AKA:  Secret Mission in the Caribbean.

MY BREAKFAST WITH BLASSIE (1983) ***

Andy Kaufman and “Classy” Freddie Blassie star in this spoof of Louis Malle’s My Dinner with Andre.  I can’t imagine anyone outside of die-hard Kaufman (or wrestling) fans enjoying this, as it’s mostly an extension of his wrestling gimmick.  (He’s still wearing the neck brace from when Jerry “The King” Lawler “broke his neck” with a pile driver.)  Even as a fan of Kaufman, Blassie, and co-director Johnny Legend, I have to admit that it sort of wears out its welcome before the credits roll (and it runs just under an hour too).  However, since there’s only a finite amount of Kaufman’s filmed performances, it’s still worth watching, if only as a curio piece.  

Kaufman and Blassie go to breakfast and discuss among other things, personal hygiene, annoying autograph seekers, and wrestling.  As they eat, they’re pestered by fans and Andy tries to pick up a girl (played by his real-life girlfriend, Linda Margulies, Johnny Legend’s sister).  Things turn sour when an annoying fan (Kaufman’s writing partner, Bob Zmuda) pukes on the floor.  

My Breakfast with Blassie was shot on video to give it the look like it was actually happening live.  (There were only two or three cameras used so it looks like an old Folgers commercial.)  Even though everyone involved (except for maybe the waitress) is clearly in on the joke, it still feels kind of staged.  That doesn’t mean it’s not funny when Kaufman gets irritated at the diner patrons and begins mocking them.  The table talk between he and Blassie is quite amusing too and it’s fun just hearing them swapping bits of wrestling minutia back and forth.  

All of this should be amusing for fans of Kaufman and his unique brand of humor.  What’s it all mean in the end?  Not much, I’m afraid.  It might not be the breakfast of champions, but I’m certainly glad I watched My Breakfast with Blassie.

FREAKY DEAKY (2013) **

Elmore Leonard adaptations work best when the humor comes naturally from the characters, situations, and dialogue.  This one is miscalculated from the get-go.  The setting was inexplicably changed to the ‘70s, presumably for the sole purpose of making make the characters look goofy in their dated hairstyles and fashions.  It’s as if the filmmakers thought just having them being quirky and offbeat wasn’t enough.  Another irritating touch is the annoying chapter breaks that serve no purpose whatsoever.  They also go a little overboard with the overly bombastic scene transitions.  It’s a shame too because underneath all that, Freaky Deaky could’ve worked had the filmmakers had confidence in the material instead of repeatedly calling attention to itself with all the gratuitous bells and whistles. 

Skip (Christian Slater) is a movie pyrotechnics man who gets roped in by a femme fatale (Breanne Racano) to blow up a pair of millionaire brothers (Crispin Glover and Andy Dick).  Mankowski (Billy Burke) is ex-bomb squad detective serving a suspension who can’t stay away from the job.  He winds up in the middle of the fracas and uses his know-how to… ahem… diffuse the situation. 

Freaky Deaky is populated with the same kinds of characters Leonard is known for.  There are street level hoods who are smarter than they let on, rich guys who insulate themselves by keeping company with criminals, and women who use their sexuality as a smoke screen for their devious intentions.  While the ingredients are all there, the recipe is just a bit off. 

It’s nice to see Burke in lead role, it’s just that his character is too thin to make much of an impression.  Slater underplays things, despite his awkward cowboy get-up, and never really becomes a threatening villain or a memorable oddball.  Michael Jai White fares much better as Glover’s bodyguard/nanny who steals many scenes out from under his co-stars.  

Despite its many shortcomings, there are some fun moments here that almost, but not quite redeem the clunky stretches.  The biggest laugh comes when White screams, “Kareem Abdul-Jabbar!” instead of “Jesus!” when he’s caught off guard.  Say what you will about Freaky Deaky, but I can’t completely hate any movie that casts Crispin Glover and Andy Dick as brothers.  I mean where else are you going to see Michael Jai White and Crispin Glover getting stoned and watching The Lawrence Welk Show? 

GIRL ON A CHAIN GANG (1966) **

Three idealistic college students go down south to help promote voter registration.  The corrupt redneck sheriff, Sonny Lew (William Watson) and his deputies don’t take kindly to “integrated scum” interfering in his hick town and proceed to hassle them.  When the trio refuse to leave town, the sheriff eventually has them arrested on phony charges and throws them in jail.  He then “allows” the two men to escape and guns them down in cold blood, giving him plenty of opportunity to have his way with the lone coed, Jean (Julie Ange).  After a farce of a trial, she is (FINALLY) sentenced to serve time on an all-male chain gang.  

The question here is, do I review this movie based on what it is, or what it promises?  The title, Girl on a Chain Gang, implies that it’s going to be a Women in Prison picture.  The titular girl does go to prison, although it’s a county jail.  However, it takes her nearly the entire running time to get on the goddamn chain gang.  In fact, she doesn’t even get shackled until the last ten minutes or so, and when she does, she doesn’t spend more than thirty seconds on it, as she escapes almost immediately with another convict in tow.  All of this happens in a span of a jump cut, which leads me to believe that much of the footage for the climax was never shot, was lost, or got ruined in the lab.  It’s funny because the first 85 minutes or so are slow and sluggishly paced, but the finale is so all over the place that it’s hard to tell what's happening sometimes.  (The most glaring bit:  The sheriff’s demise.)

Ultimately, Girl on a Chain Gang is more of a deep-fried southern hicksploitation flick than out-and-out Women in Prison movie.  It’s not an altogether bad one either.  It remains watchable, even though it’s wholly predictable.   Too bad it’s never quite sleazy enough to work as exploitation.  

Basically, what we have here is a bait and switch.  I guess that’s to be expected since it was directed by Jerry Gross, a man who made movies like Teenage Mother that had lurid titles and ad campaigns that promised way more than they delivered.  He later famously changed the title of Day of the Woman to the much more exploitative I Spit on Your Grave, gave it a sleazier advertising campaign, and made a killing.  Unfortunately, Girl on a Chain Gang hews closer to Teenage Mother than I Spit on Your Grave in terms of quality.

EVEL KNIEVEL (1971) *** ½

If you didn’t live in the ‘70s, the thrill of seeing Evel Knievel may be lost on you.  All those so-called “Extreme Sports” guys had nothing on him.  He was the original American daredevil.

It’s important I bring up the “American” aspect.  The act of riding a motorcycle in and of itself is just as American as it is badass.  Jumping a motorcycle over a row of cars at top speed is equally American and badass.  The same goes for wearing a jumpsuit (at least in the ‘70s, that is).  Combine all those elements and you have yourself Evel Knievel.  To hammer home the Americana angle, Knievel’s jumpsuit was red, white, and blue.  Because of that, when he jumped over cars on his motorcycle, it was almost as if America was jumping with him.  

You may scoff at that notion, but star/producer George Hamilton sure doesn’t.  That’s why he starts the picture as Knievel, staring directly at the audience and comparing his legendary motorcycle feats to the accomplishments of Christopher Columbus and the Wright Brothers.  Not only does this crystalize the connection between Evel and Americana at its purest, it rightfully sets himself up as an equally important historical figure that should never be forgotten.  

As for the movie itself… It’s more or less your standard kind of biopic.  We see Knievel waiting in his dressing room as he prepares to make his latest record-breaking stunt.  As the testy Knievel barks orders at his long-suffering doctor (Burt Freed) and wife (the late Sue Lyon from Lolita), he reminisces in flashback about the events in his life that brought him to this point.

The best part is the segment devoted to Knievel’s greatest stunts featuring footage of the real Evel Knievel.  We even get to see his biggest spill at Caesar’s Palace where he nearly broke every bone in his body.  This stuff is a lot more entertaining than the scenes of him courting his high school sweetheart (and by that, I mean his sweetheart who is still in high school) that bogs down the final act.  Despite that, Hamilton gives a dynamite performance, and is a lot of fun to watch.  

The film was co-written by the great John (Red Dawn) Milius, who gives Hamilton a bunch of memorable monologues.  He’s particularly awesome in the scene where he gives a television interview and becomes annoyed when the reporter compares him to “Easy Rider”.  He says, “I don’t smoke dope.  I don’t need to get high.  I don’t need anything to back me up.  I get high all the time on adrenaline!  On TERROR!”

SHOTGUN STORIES (2008) ****

Son (Michael Shannon) gets word his estranged father has passed away.  His father long abandoned him and his two brothers Boy (Douglas Ligon) and Kid (Barlow Jacobs), so he pays his respects the only way he knows how:  Crashing the funeral and spitting on his father’s casket.  This greatly upsets his dad’s “new” family of hotheaded trigger-happy sons, lighting the fuse of a full-scale feud.  The retaliations escalate on both sides, ultimately ending in murder.

Shotgun Stories is Jeff (Take Shelter) Nichols’ directorial debut and it’s a quietly powerful throwback to the early ‘90s independent cinema that favored oddball, unique characters populating small, intimate storylines.  Most directors would’ve hitched their wagon to the revenge-driven plotline.  Nichols is more concerned how a lifetime of strife, bad blood, and hostility has broken a family down over time.  I especially liked the way that he peppers the film with occasional bits with weirdo locals like the one-eyed “Shampoo” (G. Alan Wilkins).  Because of that, this is the only movie I can think of that brought to mind both Death Wish and Napoleon Dynamite in the same breath.  It hits some very familiar beats while simultaneously feeling exhilaratingly fresh and unique.

Shannnon’s brooding performance anchors the movie.  The economical use of dialogue between the brothers is important, because often what’s not being said between them is just as crucial as what’s spoken aloud.  Shannon makes each word count and gives one of his greatest, most introspective performances.  You have to feel for the brothers, not only because of the bad hand life dealt them, but also because their father had the audacity to name them Son, Kid, and Boy.  If that alone wasn’t enough to spark an all-out family feud, nothing would.

DIMENSION IN FEAR (1998) * ½

An escaped serial killer named Cal (Ron Jason) is on the loose, roaming the city in search of prey.  Meanwhile, sexy weather girl Dedra (Nicole West) leaves her job at a television station, headed for greener pastures.  When her car breaks down, Dedra gets stranded in the middle of nowhere and Cal gives her a lift.  He then proceeds to terrorize her and Dedra is forced to fight for her life.

Dimension in Fear is a rather dull, low budget, shot-on-video serial killer thriller from Ted V. (Blood Orgy of the She-Devils) Mikels (who also has a cameo as a hotel clerk).  The scenes of the police arresting the killer, his escape, and the ensuing manhunt play out like an expanded episode of Cops, mostly because they share the same non-existent production values.  The scenes that take place at the TV station are especially cheap.  (When West does her weather report, she merely stands in front of a map that’s been taped to the wall.)

The only recognizable names in the cast are former Ed Wood flame Dolores (Glen or Glenda?) Fuller as the TV station manager and Liz (Desperate Living) Renay as a “world famous psychic”.  Renay gets the funniest part of the movie when she does a psychic reading for West.  Since there was no room in the budget for a crystal ball, or even tarot cards, Renay just holds the sides of her face and kind of zones out.  It’s pretty damned funny too.   

As a whole, Dimension in Fear is about middle of the road as far as Mikels’ movies go.  It’s more realistic than something like The Astro-Zombies, but it’s not blatantly bizarre as Female Slaves’ Revenge.  Because of that, it undoubtedly lacks that certain something that makes Mikels’ best work so endearing.  Well, at least to me, anyway. 

Also, at 109 minutes it’s way too long; another thing that’s unfortunately all too common with Mikels' latter-day pictures.  There are way too many subplots, the most egregious being the stuff involving the killer’s twin brother (also played by Jason).  This plot revelation plays out exactly as you’d expect, and since there are absolutely no surprises in store, it makes the third act particularly rough going.

AKA:  City in Terror.